#She watched him bleed and cry after defeating evil she has a soft spot for him

[skyloftian-nutcase]

The rain was loud, covering the already quiet footsteps as a figure approached an overhanging. Underneath the simple wooden roof was a man asleep in a pile of hay alongside a chocolate colored dog, who was curled in a tight ball and snoring loudly.

The hooded figure stood over the pair a moment, taking the sight in, before walking under the awning. The figure pulled back the hood covering their face, revealing a Sheikah woman. She kicked lightly at the bottom of the man’s boot.

The blonde man flinched in response, eyes fluttering open. He stiffened, hand reaching for a sword that lay beside him, when he paused at the sight of the woman. He squinted in confusion a moment, clearly recognizing she was Sheikah and likely not a threat as a result, but unsure what else to make of her.

“Interesting place of rest,” the woman noted.

Link blinked blearily, growing slightly annoyed. “Can’t really rest if you’re waking me up, ma’am.”

The woman chuckled at that. “Ma’am? Do you truly not recognize me?”

Link blushed a little, flustered and embarrassed. He huffed to cover it up, looking at his companion instead. “I meet many people on my journeys.”

“It’s fine,” the woman said easily. “You were recovering when you saw me most. That was many years ago.”

Link squinted into the dark rain, trying to place what she was talking about, when it hit him like a moblin club. His eyes widened and he looked back at her, recalling palace walls, a healer, a Sheikah guard— “Lady Impa?”

Lady Impa gracefully nodded her head in acknowledgement. Then her smile faded a hair. “The years don’t seem to have been kind on you. It’s dangerous to be alone, in the dark and vulnerable like this. Why are you sleeping here?”

Link huffed again, though with slightly better humor. “My companion will alert me if there’s danger.”

Friend snored helpfully, her lips and paws twitching as she dreamed. Link felt Impa’s scrutiny magnify, and he blushed. “She knew you weren’t a threat!”

Lady Impa hummed, crossing her arms. Friend snorted loudly, startling herself awake, and then registered there was another person there. She barked shrilly, hair standing on edge for a moment, before her tail started wagging so hard it might as well have flown off her wiggling butt. Impa’s gentle amusement bubbled into outright laughter as the dog started licking her hands in greeting.

“A great guard dog, I see,” she commented, petting her.

Link huffed a third time, good humor fading. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m searching for the princess. She disappeared, though the queen has a good suspicion she ran away. It’s my job to track her down. I don’t suppose you might know where she is, would you?”

Link considered her words a moment. He didn’t exactly have an inkling on the princess’ location, only that she was trying to track him ever since he saved her and her friend. He supposed relaying that information would be helpful.

He was tired and grumpy. He wasn’t feeling helpful.

Besides, helping Impa might drag him into more royal nonsense. Better she figure it out for herself.

“Not a clue,” he finally said, rubbing his face tiredly to hide his expression. “I’m glad you’re in good health, Lady Impa, but perhaps you can leave me to sleep now?”

Lady Impa watched him far longer than he liked. He felt himself shrivel inward a hair, as if he were still that seventeen-year-old boy again who had saved Hyrule and barely knew how to deal with the consequences. He debated just getting up and finding somewhere else to sleep, but it was far too bloody cold for that.

“This night has quite the chill,” Impa finally said, making him glance at her in bewilderment. “You shouldn’t be sleeping outside.”

Link stared at her dully as Friend flopped on his lap to get some pets. “This area is quite comfortable, thanks. And Cupcake here will keep me warm.”

Impa’s face warmed as she smiled at his words, but she was still stubborn. “Come with me, Hero. I’ll buy you a room at the inn.”

Link felt his body stiffen. He didn’t want to deal with people. He didn’t. “I’m fine here.”

“Is this a matter of pride? If you don’t have the rupees, it’s fine. I said I’d buy you the room,” she continued relentlessly. When Link didn’t reply, she cocked her head to the side, hand on her hip as she watched him discerningly. “Or is it simply that you don’t wish to be near others?”

Link sighed, biting his lip and looking down.

Lady Impa crouched down in front of him, petting Friend some more. Friend’s tail thumped cheerily on the ground in response, and she rolled onto her back on Link’s crossed legs. Impa chuckled at it, her face gentle and kind, and she turned her gaze to Link, now at eye level with him. “I’ll do the talking, Link. Just come out of this dismal weather.”

The invitation was clearly not negotiable, and Link was shivering now that he was more awake. Sighing heavily, he nudged Friend with his leg, urging her to get up. She flipped to her feet quickly, shaking herself and panting excitedly as she looked between the two. Link slowly rose, cracking his back and neck and pulling his cloak more tightly around himself. Lady Impa led the way, heading towards the village where he’d been lingering in the outskirts. The group made their way in silence (though Friend did find a deer to chase, as well as a puddle to dig in) before Impa guided them to the inn close to the center of the village. Link hugged himself under his cloak as they entered, hovering near the exit with his beloved companion. Friend sensed his anxiety and remained close, sitting down and leaning her weight on his legs.

Impa only argued very briefly with the innkeeper concerning the dog, paying a little extra for unexpected damages, before guiding the two upstairs. Link looked at her glumly when the room revealed two beds.

“I do have to sleep too, you know,” she noted easily, taking off her cloak. “There aren’t single rooms here. At least you’re not with a stranger.”

“This was just a trap,” Link grumbled, though he too stripped off his outer clothes, which were now soaked. Friend moved to jump on the bed, but Link caught her first, cleaning her paws and fur of mud as much as possible. Then she proceeded to take the entire mattress.

Lady Impa laughed at it, settling into her own bed. “Good night, Link.”

For his part, Link didn’t try to be too grumpy anymore. She had bought him a warm place to sleep. Sighing heavily, he wrestled for space (and the blanket) on the bed, settling into a comfortable position as Friend stretched and yawned. “Good night, Lady Impa.”

[ms31x129]

Woohoo! Time for Chapter 3! I had to make a another DJ! I felt compelled! @cultureisdarkbeer @monikafilefan @today-in-fic

Chapter 1 - Courage to Jump Tumblr LINK or if you like AO3 it is HERE.

Chapter 2: Luck of the Irish Tumblr LINK or if you like AO3 it is HERE.

Chapter 3: Graffiti of the Heart  (Click on the name for AO3) or if you like Tumblr just clickity-click on the Keep Reading link below.

{Summary:

Jackson continues his journey, leading him into D.C. and the power of words, mixed with his abilities, and some parental love, allow him to travel back into his younger self. There he delves into a memory within a memory, but whose memory is he recalling?

Oh Jackson, never fret, when you are the son of Fox William Mulder and Dana Katherine Scully, you never walk alone.}

“A vision is not just a picture of what could be; it is an appeal to our better selves, a call to become something more.” -Rosabeth Moss Kanter

Jackson tossed the cabbie a $20 that he’d “won” on a scratch off ticket he picked up at the gas station not far from his house.

“You good, kid?” the man with thick eyebrows and questionable hygiene asked him as he slid out of the back seat.

“I’m good.”

As he shut the door and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, the man’s window opened and Jackson rolled his eyes at the preemptive attempt to dole out words of wisdom that he knew were surely heading his way.

“You’re a kid alone in the dark, and I’m dropping you off in the middle of the National Mall,” he warned, pointing at the dimly lit public square overlooking the lake as if it weren't completely clear to Jackson as to where he was headed. “Shit happens.”

Jackson leaned down and smirked. “Yeah, I got that,” he waved the driver off. “Thanks for the heads up, but they're the ones who should be afraid of me.”

The cabbie shrugged, probably figuring he’d tried if a sullen news report streamed across his T.V. in the morning about a teenage boy found dead behind some bush near Constitution Ave.

The cab’s tail lights shone in the dark as it drove off down the street. Jackson was left alone to wander and think about what the hell he was going to do next. Running was getting old, fast. Yet, running was all he knew how to do anymore.

After bouncing round from place to place, traveling and sightseeing for months now, he figured he’d stick around more familiar places for a while. And after his little run-in at the house, he decided a larger populated city would be a better area to blend in at. He was fairly certain no one of importance was searching for him after taking a bullet through the skull and had been presumed dead by everyone but his mother, yet he couldn’t be too careful if he wanted to keep what was left of his family safe. So, the busy tourist attraction around the Washington Monument seemed like the perfect place to clear his head before finding a cheap motel to crash at for the night.

The springtime weather was unusually warm for nightfall and the soft quacking of ducklings bathing in the lake in front of the monument caught his attention. He smiled and found an old bench to sit on and stretch out his long legs as he watched how the mother duck encouraged her babies to follow her into the glassy water.

As a little boy, he would run out back behind his farmhouse and sit on a log with his dad to watch the birds and geese swoop down onto the lake during migration. The sky would darken with the mass amount of them hovering and playfully cutting through the air above him. Now when the sky darkened around Jackson, it was not due to nature and its natural way of life, but an unnatural force of darkness that has managed to follow him wherever he went.

“What do I do now?” he wondered to the empty seat beside him, strumming his fingers along the back of the bench. “Alone in the dark…”

As he steadily chipped away at the fragments of the multilayered paint, Jackson noticed letters engraved deep into the weathered bench. With his curiosity peaked, he leaned down to tear away a larger chunk of blue paint and saw exactly what was written.

DKS & FWM

WERE HERE

1994

His eyes widened just before his mouth fell open. “No way! It can’t be,” he shook his head in disbelief. But there it was, etched in precise, even lines that defied all logic.

He could feel her —feel her as if she were sitting right beside him in that very moment. Even with so few letters to go on, there was no mistake to be made. His birth mother had marked her presence for her future son to unknowingly stumble across 25 years later.

“Un-fucking-believable. I guess the past really does screw with the future.”

His fingers traced along the letters, feeling each groove as if he were her sitting in this very spot so many years ago. Was she acting as a lovestruck young woman daydreaming of the man she loved? Was she poking fun at the probable 30 other initialed couple’s forever time stamped into the bench’s frame? Could she have been contemplating her future, her whole life as she scratched each line with purpose?

So many never-ending questions with never enough answers. He did carry one way to find resolution to some of his larger ones that have remained unanswered for far too long.

Jackson reached into his pocket and opened up the letter once again. He inhaled deeply and picked up where he had left off.

And if I falter or fail on this day, know there is an answer my child. A sacred imperishable truth but one you my never hope to find alone.

The last words barely registering in his head when his mind started up like a projector, snapping his head back with the force of the memory.

December 10, 2008

It was a cold day and his mom had him all bundled up in a puffy blue and white jacket. He could hardly move, restricted by the coat and his sweater that hugged him. It chaffed at his pale sensitive skin underneath.

This hospital felt more like a church with pictures of saints covering the walls, crosses with the carved out figure of Jesus bleeding from his hands and feet hanging ominously.

The hallways to the children’s section had windows with tiny squares, reminding him of a jail cell from a show on T.V.. The nun brought them down another hallway with big blue bears and bright yellow giraffes painted on the walls, stuffed animals and toys inside the rooms on shelves and beds. All of it couldn’t hide the cold hospital walls, hard industrial floors, or the thick flat wood of hospital railings holding the stench of sickness and antiseptic.

It all made his stomach turn and chest feel tight with worry. The sound of machines beeping played in the background as his anxiety grew.

Another room now.

This one was baby blue in color with animal prints dressing the windows and children’s drawings mounted for all to see. It was meant to be friendly, but it only had the hair at the back of his neck standing on end. He wanted to run. He wanted to cry. No more tests.

Everyone passed with purpose; expressions dark with evil, lingering stares for such a holy place. Jackson made up his mind. There was no way he’d ever return to this place again.

They turned the corner quickly and he swung himself wide, stretching out his arm, tugging at his mother’s hand and was suddenly hit by a moving object in a white coat.

Stumbling back, his gaze scanned up towards the woman in front of him. Her face was blurred by a file, but her feelings of defeat, of a battle lost, of helplessness, of the world closing in was in full high-definition. Her kind blue eyes framed by vivid tendrils of hair never quite met his, but they were the softest blue he had ever seen. Like water in the pool at his friend Mikey’s house, floating peacefully in chaos.

“Oh, excuse me. I’m sorry,” she murmured, reflexively placing a soft hand to the top of his head and leaving a spattering of goose flesh along his skin.

He heard the stress in her voice, saw the tightness in her neck, her hair reminding him of a blood moon casting it’s red shadow among the wheat grass swaying in the fields by his house. She was beautiful.

“Mother,” the word rising unbidden from his throat in a mere hoarse whisper for no perceptible reason. His eyes followed her as she swiftly rounded the corner to disappear from which they just came.

“You’re not hurt are you, Jackson?” his mom asked as she leaned down to give him a once over.

“No, Mom. I’m fine,” he mumbled back sharply as they continued down the corridor.

The nun conducting their tour had his father’s ear, relaying information in cautious tones “...once he begins to show promise in his progression he will visit Dr. Goldman for additional testing...”

That last word, “testing,” burrowed into his ear and burned at his throat as if he had swallowed shards of glass, lighting his stomach on fire.

The word hit him so hard that it pushed him back into the present. His brain rattled fiercely inside his skull. The heel of his palm massaged his brow at the ache firing in his brain until his anxiety settled.

It wasn’t going to stop him this time. He would push the physical and emotional pain away to continue on. Determined, he read the next line:

Chance meeting your perfect other, your perfect opposite, your protector and endangerer.

“Ah!” His small index finger screamed in pain. Something sharp was in his coat pocket, stabbing at it, pricking the skin. He dug it out in the privacy of his bedroom. It was one of those guardian angel pins like the one his mom used to wear and place inside Christmas cards when she sent them to people that were special to her. It must have slipped into his pocket from the woman who had bumped into him in the hallway earlier. Mother . Jackson recognized the birthstone as his own. The angel pin flipped around his naive tiny fingers and he realized he was, once again, trapped inside another flashback. Back into the abyss he plunged, opening into the eyes of another .

A ceiling came into view. A foreign bed, the softest of pillows, and a warm comforter surrounded him as a strong consoling arm wrapped around his waist. Deep, complex resonating emotions filled him—pain of loss, regret, and a heavy emptiness that hovered over him so thickly that it nearly suffocated.

“Do you think God is losing any sleep?”

His perspective shifted and a man’s face came into view. He had a beard worn almost as a mask, drawing attention away from the honest truth he held in his eyes.

Harrowing truths he carried on the cross he bore for ‘her’ and for… a sister. His eyes reminding him of the first of spring, when the grass just started to grow, but the death of winter remained underneath.  

“Why bring a kid into the world just to make him suffer? I don’t know, Mulder, I’ve got such a connection to this boy,” Jackson said in a tender voice that was not his own.

“How old is he?” the man asked and his eyes softened further, concern flooding through his vocal cords.  

“You think it’s because of William?” she wondered as if she were afraid of his answer.

“I don’t know... I… I think our son left us both with an emptiness that can’t be filled.” As he spoke his eyes revealed an intricate mosaic of an endless devotion—caring and love built up inside a never ending staircase like the one in the MC Escher art book that had caught his eye in the library.

“Just go to sleep,” the man said and tightened his comforting embrace. His lips rested at her temple for reassurance. “Let me curse God for a while.”

Unfamiliar long lashes fluttered shut and a sharp pain sang through the center of his brain.

The vision rapidly zoomed out, blurred and tunneled, focusing in on the toy box in his old room and the angel pin in his hand. He heard his parents talking in hushed tones just outside his bedroom door. He was there for a brief moment, only for him to be forcefully sucked out again.

His consciousness jolted back from his own eight year old body and violently threw him forward into the present.

His birth mother's angel pin vanished, the letter now in its place, clutched firmly within his shaking hand. He had just watched a moment in time through Dana Scully’s eyes, and that man was Fox Mulder.

“Oh. My. God.”